The Emperor's Talon: Journey to Exegal
by AshenAngel2
Summary: Five years ago Dick Grayson was Emperor Palpatine's Talon assassin, now he's Robin and his past is behind him. But when an old adversary resurfaces, Dick must put everything he fought for on the line to save his best friend and the citizens of Gotham. Put in the impossible position of working for the Sith or watching people die, he sets course for Exegal alongside his enemy.
1. Out of Gravity

**The Emperor's Talon: Journey to Exegal **

**Prelude**

**In a Galaxy Far, Far Away…**

Five years ago, Dick Grayson escaped from Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, and his life as an enslaved Talon assassin. He joined forces with former Jedi, Bruce Wayne—known colloquially as the Batman—in Gotham, the capital city of the planet Avoline. He took on a new identity as Robin and turned his back on the ways of the Sith. The two have since become an urban crimefighting legend despite Palpatine's attempts to brand them as traitors to all free people of the galaxy.

Now Batman and Robin are engaged in a battle with Penguin, a local Gotham crime lord, in orbit around the planet Avoline. Meanwhile, Dick's friend Jason Todd has taken a job in the illegal spice trade as a smuggler between Avoline and Hutt space, and is on his way home with contraband cargo.

Unbeknownst to all parties, Deathstroke is also ready to return to Gotham for the Talon, determined to make good on his investment.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Out of Gravity**

"Robin, status report," demanded Batman.

In the Batwing cockpit, Robin tapped his headset microphone a few times. "I can't…zerr….on my way…shuurr, zzzz…you're breaking up."

"You're just making hissing sounds," Batman pointed out.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Fine, I miscalculated the trajectory angle to your coordinates from the warehouse. I ran into Penguin's tracer mines above Bludhaven."

"You what?!"

"Don't get your bat-boxers in a knot. I'll be there in two."

Batman growled. "You'd better be. And I don't wear 'bat-boxers'; they don't fit under the suit. I have…"

"Please don't _ever_ finish that thought."

Robin punched the throttle on the Batwing and barrel-rolled to starboard. Over his headset, he vaguely thought he heard Batman mutter "teenagers" under his breath, but he was too preoccupied to come up with a retort. Instead, Robin focused his attention on piloting the Batwing through Avolrine's orbital space at top speed. Normally, he would multitask; quip and fly. But, being trailed by a swarm of penguin shaped tracer mines from the planet's upper atmosphere, he thought better of it. For the moment, anyway.

Growing in the distance up ahead was the Penguin's flagship where Batman was trying to stop the crime lord from taking off with a few million credit's worth of ammunition. _Nice ship_, Robin thought. _And they say crime doesn't pay_.

"Ace," Robin switched communication channels to the yellow and white astromech droid docked into the Batwing's right foil, "can you get a read on the Penguin's ship."

Ace let out a string of beeps and warbles; a translation of which spidered across Robin's cockpit readout. "You'll have to be more specific."

Robin frowned. "Scan the ship's shield generator. Is it still offline?"

"Negative," another warble, "see, was that so hard?"

"Who programmed you," Robin grunted, "to sass me?". He jerked the ship to port away from a tracer mine coming up on his wing.

"You did," Ace answered, "karma's a bitch."

Robin growled. "You're spare parts when we get back."

About 30 of the tracer mines were beginning to overtake him—now locked on to the Batwing's long nose—and Robin was compelled to reach into the Force to guide the ship out of the herd. He cut power to the engine so that the ones in front overshot him, then second's before colliding with the ones still locked onto his tail, engaged thrusters and dipped under the swarm. Some of the mines collided with each other and exploded. The others stubbornly rebooted their auto targeting system and locked onto the Batwing's tail for the second time.

"Robin, hurry it up. They've fixed the nava-computer and the Penguin is about to jump into hyperspace," Batman's voice crackled over his headset.

"Just get clear of the aft docking bay," said Robin. "I'm bringing the fireworks to you."

"You're bringing the tracer mines to me aren't you," said Batman. Whether or not he was displeased was open to interpretation. Or so Robin chose to take it.

"I'm gonna light up the century," Robin agreed. He turned to the droid, "Ace, give me a visual on the hyperdrive chasse." A 3D scan of the ship's schematics appeared on the readout. "Bingo."

Ace let out a long garbled scream as Robin pushed the thrusters into overdrive and careened straight for the Penguin's massive Venator Class armored yacht. The tracer mines stayed right on his tail. A message from Ace flashed on the readout. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

Robin grinned. "Not a chance."

The Batwing shot unerringly towards the yacht, never deviating from its predetermined path towards the hyperdrive chasse. Robin reached into the Force for guidance. He closed his eyes and saw the approaching ship without human sight. He counted backwards from three, then at the last possible second before crashing headlong into the Penguin's yacht, pulled up on the control yoke and shot up the aft conning spire. The belly of the Batwing was less than a meter away from the yacht in passing. The tracer mines—lacking sufficiently complex piloting algorithms—were not as lucky. The entire swarm kamikazed the ship's hyperdrive.

Alarm klaxons sounded on the ship. Smoke and fire erupted from the demolished hyperdrive generator and the ship came almost to a standstill. Robin made a quick hairpin turnabout and came down the back end of the ship intent on knocking out the sub-light drive engines before it could get out of Avoline's orbit and into open space. He took out the port engine and was on to the second in a matter of seconds.

Things might have gone as planned had it not been for the Penguin's frantic bridge crew diverting all power to the remaining sub-light and pushing the engine past its capacity in the hope of breaking orbit. On her way past, the Batwing was caught in the backwash from the sub-light drive and hurtled on a skewed trajectory into a gun turret. Robin sensed that danger in the Force only soon enough to pull back on the control yoke and prevent the small craft from being completely crushed. As it was, the Batwing hit the yacht hard enough to crack the cockpit canopy.

Warning lights flicked to life on the dashboard. A message from ace appeared on the readout. "Cockpit depressurizing. Advise immediate landing."

"Great. Just great," muttered Robin, "hang on Ace, were gonna head for the docking bay."

Again, things might have worked had the last sub-light engine not overloaded and exploded outwards. Now the entire back end of the ship was engulfed in smoke and superheated gasses. The docking bay shield generator deactivated in the explosion. Everyone and everything in it were sucked out into space as the place lost air-pressure.

Robin flew in anyways. A less skilled pilot would not have been able to maneuver a half-crippled ship through the torrent of debris from the docking bay in against the air current. But he managed it somehow. Robin guided the Batwing into a slide along the docking bay floor in behind a sturdy garage wall just as the cockpit completely shattered outward into space.

By all rights he should be dead. Being a Force sensitive ex-Talon had its perks. If one could call retaining consciousness through two collapsed lungs a perk. _Immaterial_, Darth Vader would have said. Robin hardly cared. He reached for the lightsaber hilt on his left hip as he disentangled himself from the Batwing's harness and toppled over the side. Braced against the garage wall, he reached into the Force and threw the lightsaber pommel on a curved trajectory toward the emergency blast door activation panel on the other side of the docking bay. The butt end of the weapon hit the button and the great durrasteel doors began to close.

The doors closed with a clang to which he was perfectly deaf, and the docking bay life support system rebooted itself. Collapsed on the floor, Robin decided to take a short nap.

* * *

**The Bridge: **

Batman stood on the bridge of the Penguin's flagship amidst the unconscious or cringing crew members like a perpetually menacing statue that blinked on occasion. Beside him sat the Penguin himself, in chains. The old crime lord looked subdued. Batman had foiled his last-ditch attempt to abandon ship in a modified escape pod and dragged his hide back to the bridge to face justice. For his part, Batman was rather pleased with how the series events had taken place, even if he thought blowing up the entire aft of the ship was a little overkill.

The Dark Knight had been in dire straights for a while there. Not only did he have to take down an entire ship's crew single handed, but he also had to prevent the ship from leaving Avoline's orbit, thereby saving neighboring system's from more armed criminal activities. He had left Robin behind in Gotham to rescue the Penguin's hostages from a rigged warehouse on the wharf. And as far as he knew, they were all perfectly safe now. The only complication in a job well done was the boy running into the tracer mines over Bludhaven.

All in all, Batman was satisfied with the mission. Even as the Penguin spewed the occasional nonsensical threat, he reveled in post-battle thrills.

He turned as the bridge doors slid open and Ace, Robin's favorite astromech droid, rolled in at top speed, beeping and warbling in all but unintelligible droid.

"Ace, contact Commissioner Gordon and have him send a transport to pick up the trash," Batman instructed.

Ace beeped in response. While he didn't understand the words, the droid sounded irritated.

"Don't sass me Ace," Batman growled, "I have enough knowhow to have you disassembled in five minutes flat."

Another angry beep.

"I don't care what you're saying. Just get Gordon up here…wait," Batman paused, "where's Robin?"

Ace went wild.

Batman growled. The aft docking bay. He should have known. "Stay here and guard them," he instructed as he swept off the bridge, "and make that call."

Batman strode down the various halls and corridors towards the docking bay. Of all the reckless, stupid stunts to pull, Robin would pilot himself into a depressurized docking bay. As he reached the aft end of the ship, the halls began to get darker, illuminated only by blue emergency lights along the floor and the flashing red alert strobes. Smoke and small fires burned in the corners. He smelled gas. Robin, what did you do?

He took the turbolift down to the docking bay. When the doors opened, he was almost taken back by the prevenient destruction around him. The only saving grace here was that the bay way empty of just about everything save whatever had been caught in behind walls or trapped in corners when the place was exposed to the vacuum of space.

"Robin," he called even as he strode into the docking bay.

"Over here boss," shouted a horse voice.

Batman moved with purpose towards the voice. Ahead, slammed up against a docking garage wall, was the crumpled remains of the Batwing. Robin was sitting beside it in a slight daze just starring up and grinning strangely.

"Are you OK?" Batman demanded as he crouched in front of his protégé.

Robin gazed up at him. "A-okay boss. How are you?" He coughed into his elbow and wiped a smear of blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

"Better than you," Batman answered. He wanted to go into a lecture—actually he wanted to yell at his reckless apprentice—but he kept his emotions in check. "Come on, we can't leave Ace alone on the bridge."

"Ace needs to be reprogrammed. Again," said Robin.

Batman just grunted. He slid an arm under and behind Robin's back and helped heave the boy to his feet by his armpits. Robin groaned but otherwise remained silent. The Talon serum would finish healing whatever new damage the kid had done to himself, but in the meantime, Batman kept his peace as he hauled his loopy apprentice out of the docking bay. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Robin's lightsaber rolling around on the bay floor. With a longsuffering growl, he called the abandon weapon to his hand with the Force.

Fifteen standard minutes later, civilian police commissioner Jim Gordon arrived with Chief O'Hara and a prisoner transport shuttle.

"Thanks again Batman," said Gordon as the police took the Penguin and his crew into custody.

Batman acknowledged the man with a grunt.

"He means 'you're welcome'," Robin translated. In the fifteen minutes since Batman had hauled him up to the bridge, he'd recovered enough to sound like his usual self again. And as most teenagers would do, was making a show of nonchalance by spinning lazily in the Penguin's captain's seat on the upper deck of the bridge.

Gordon couldn't help the small smile the quirked at the edge of his lips. The man had grown to like the former Talon over the past five years. And despite the Emperor sanctioning the Dynamic Duo—as they had come to known—as imperial law enforcement agents, he trusted the kid. Batman too. Pity the rest of Gotham hadn't come so far. Nor the police, if O'Hara's sideways glances and suspicious scowls were anything to go by.

"We'll take him downtown for processing," Gordon told Batman.

Another grunt.

"Do you know where Penguin got all that amo?"

Batman finally elected to use his words. "Low level gun runners out of Bludhaven. They had cases of the stuff brought into Jump City from Zantax 5 and transported into the haven by jet. Penguin bought it dirt cheap compared to what he was going to sell it for on Alderaan."

"I see," said Gordon, "are you…?

"I'm tracking the gun runners," Batman interrupted, "I'll give you the intel on Penguin before the trial."

"That's a relief," said Gordon, "I want to thank you on behalf of Gotham, since, you know, they don't always appreciate the good you do."

"The city owes me nothing. I came to terms with that years ago," said Batman, "however,  
and here he winced, "if the city can, I need a ship out of here."

Gordon just stared at Batman without comprehension for a few seconds. Batman stared back. Finally, Gordon broke the silence. "What happened to the Batwing?"

"My apprentice happened," Batman deadpanned.

"It blew up," Robin clarified.

Gordon frowned in confusion but had learned by now not to ask too many questions. "Right," he said instead, "you can take my Torppel."

* * *

**The ****_Outlaw_****:**

The _Outlaw_ was a relatively small Python Class Correlian blockade runner. The body was rounded like a dreadnaught but unclosed. She looked almost like a horseshoe with a protruding forward cockpit between the two ends. She was banged up and patched together, in places with literal duct tape, and a general eye sore. Still, she was relatively reliable for clandestine smuggling operations from Correlia and Naul Hutta; which worked out because that's what her crew did best.

As the ship sailed into Avoline's orbit, the pilot—a certain Lando Cutzer—called over his shoulder; "Hey kid, where'd ya put those credentials?"

"They're in the upper storage unit," 15-year-old Jason Todd called back from the storage hold.

"Where? I can't find 'em?" said Lando as he halfheartedly rummaged the storage unit.

A voice hailing the ship from Gotham's air traffic control tower broke into the conversation over the radio. "Correllian Blockade Runner 6-8-4-2, please identify yourself."

Without a word, Jason pulled the stolen identification chip out of the storage unit and handed it to Lando who answered the radio. "Gotham City, this is Captain Lando Cutzer on the Correllian Blockade Runner requesting permission to land. I'm sending you all our credentials now."

After a few minutes of waiting, the air traffic controller responded. "Captain Cutzer, you are clear to land in Gotham. Here is your flight path. Do not deviate."

"Thank you ever so kindly," said Lando before switching off the radio. "Well, Jason," he said turning in his seat, "welcome home."

* * *

**Gotham City, Avoline, The Bat Cave:**

"It was reckless, Dick!" Bruce shouted.

"I made a mistake!" Dick shouted back, "I'm sorry, but it happens."

"You don't get to make those kinds of mistakes," Bruce countered, "you can't make mistakes with your life. I don't care if being a Talon brings you back from the dead, we both know one day you won't come back. You're not like the other Talons, Dick, you told me yourself."

"I know! _I'm sorry!_"

"Force damnit, Dick! You're not invincible! You're not a soldier, you're a teenager. One who should be in school and making the most of his life—living it to the fullest—and what do you do? You go out and get yourself killed!"

"From a certain point of view," said Dick. He pretended to inspect his very alive looking hands, cheeky as ever. "I mean, I am still as alive as anyone murder as a kid can be."

"You're still not…" Bruce shouted. He turned abruptly, "that's it! I'm grounding Robin. No more patrols, no more Batcave, no more training, nothing. Robin is grounded until further notice."

"Can you actually do that?" said Dick. He cocked his head, an indication his Talon instincts and analytical thought processes were kicking in.

"Yes. It's already done," said Bruce. He reached over and pressed the intercom, "Alfred, will you come down to the cave for a minute please."

"Oh, so I free those hostages and take the Penguin's ship out of commission; and my reward is getting grounded?" Dick demanded.

"Robin is grounded," said Bruce, "Dick Grayson is not, unless you continue to talk to with that tone of voice."

Dick's face broke into an unexpected smile considering the heat of their argument. "You totally just pulled the ultimate dad card."

"I did not!" Bruce snapped, fully aware that he sounded as petty and immature as the teenager in front of him. "And you're not grounded for getting the mission done. You're grounded for being reckless beyond what the situation called for." He ran a tired hand down his face, "I want…I want you to go live your life to the fullest."

"Well I think living life to the fullest means finding the wisdom to live it well," said Dick. He rested his forearms on the computer deck's railing and looked out over the lover level of the Batcave. "You remember when you took me? I was a 12-year-old kid with big problems and even bigger dreams?"

"And a big mouth," Bruce grunted.

Dick huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Have I changed that much?" It was a rhetorical question.

Bruce knew he didn't have to answer, but the words came without thought. "No. Not so much."

"Yeah." Now Dick looked up; eyes as clear a blue as he had ever seen, devoid of any Talon gold, which even years later was rare. "Bruce, I've still got that thing inside me, I can't explain it, but it's that thing that makes me have to fight. Maybe it's what the Court of Owls did to me. Maybe it was Vader. But maybe it's just…_me._ The Force made me. The Court did their thing. And the Sith did their thing. But more than all of that it, was the Force and me that made this weapon. That's what I am, Bruce. I'm a weapon."

"You were the one that told me, we are what we chose to be," Bruce said, "so make better decisions or I will make them for you. And don't try to tell me I can't, because I am your legal guardian and there is not a court in the Galaxy that wouldn't agree that I should keep my…you out of danger."

"I'm not in any danger," said Dick, "Darth Vader and the Emperor have given up on us—well, sort of—and without a bounty on my head, Deathstroke and Fett are out of the picture."

"That's not the danger I meant, and you know it," Bruce gritted out, "you're the greatest danger to yourself now. And that's something…it's something I can't protect you from."

And it was true.

Bruce feared very little. Life had taught him that things—people especially—will come and go. What the Force gives, so it takes away. For himself, he feared neither life nor death. And with all that could befall himself, he had made his peace long before he had taken up the mantle of Batman. As a Jedi padawan before the end of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire, he had foresworn attachment to all the world would give him. Or so he had tried to convince himself.

In truth, Bruce was very much afraid. And while he had sworn to protect all life, there were two live in particular he would give his own soul to save. Alfred and Dick meant the world to him. The one as a father; the other as a son. He would lose Alfred to old age at some point. But Dick? The boy could be immortal. Except, for whatever reason, Dick had chosen another path.

A Talon—an ordinary Talon—could be resurrected infinity. An ordinary would be practically immortal unless dispatched in a particularly effective way. But Dick was not an ordinary Talon. Far from it; he was so much more.

When the court decided to experiment and mold their next Talon from a Force sensitive child, they could not have foreseen the implications. Dick Grayson, a 17-year-old boy, was quickly becoming the most powerful individual combatant in the Galaxy because some people in white masks had decided to experiment. And yet it was that power in the Force—the potential he had to gain more power—that would be his end.

_"You know how the Jedi teach that when you die, you become one with the Force? Well, every time I die, I become one with the Force. When the Talon serum brings me back, I bring back more of the Force, if you will. It's like I live between the tangible world and the intangible Force; and by dying and shifting planes, I get constantly closer to the edge of reality where the Force and I are one."_

Those words haunted Bruce every time he watched Dick come back from some grave injury. Because one day, he wouldn't come back. True, every death he died made him more powerful, and thereby perhaps safer, but the knowledge that a child who should never have to die would chose to become one with the Force was more than Bruce could bare.

"Bruce," said Dick shaking him out of his thoughts, "you're brooding."

"I'm thinking," Bruce corrected.

"No, you're brooding. I was studying your technique until I got bored."

"Hilarious," Bruce deadpanned, "you're also twice grounded."

"What!" cried Dick, "for being an observant student?"

"If only that were true," Bruce sighed. He pushed his darkest thoughts and fears out of his mind. Dick would be reckless, but there was time. He was still young and anything that might arise from his reckless nature was a long way off.

"Hey," said Dick bumping up beside him with his lean shoulders, "I know what you're thinking. I don't have a death-wish. I just think some things are more important than staying safe. If there's something I can do to make the world a better place, I have to do it. No matter the cost. Besides, what's the point of living forever if I'm the only one? I want a normal life, so to me, every life I save while I can is worth every minute of this borrowed life I have to live."

"You take your Jedi training very seriously," said Bruce. His habitual scowl deepened. "Too serious."

"That's something I never thought I'd hear you say. But…"Dick spread his hands, "here I stand. I can do nothing else."

"Famous last words, I assure you, Master Dick," said Alfred walking into the cave, "you called for me, Master Bruce?"

"Yes," said Bruce, "Robin is grounded. _Indefinitely_." He glared sideways as Dick, who maturely poked out his tongue.

"Very good sir," said Alfred, "I shall see to it everything is locked up for safe keeping. I trust you will not cross me Master Dick."

"Fine," said Dick.

Alfred nodded. "I thought not."

"There's just one person I have to see first," said Dick, looking at the konometer on his wrist, "his ship just landed. I'll hand myself over later. Bye!" Dick launched himself off the upper deck, up though the hatched exit above their heads, and out of sight.

Bruce only sighed. "See to it that he's thrice grounded, will you Alfred? I'm going to bed."

"Very good sir."

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter is pretty long because I'm trying to start the sequel book to _The Emperor's Talon_ in such a way that the story is possible to follow even if you haven't read the first one. Don't know how I'm doing at that. I Tend to forget that people aren't actually mind readers and don't know what I'm thinking.


	2. The Outlaw

**The Emperor's Talon: Journey to Exegal **

**Chapter 2, The Outlaw**

Jason Todd stood at the foot of the _Outlaw_'s loading ramp causally smoking a cigarette. The crates of Yathmin spice had already been unloaded and distributed, and there really wasn't much for him to do aside from guard the ship until Captain Cutzer decided to leave. No doubt the old smuggler was at a local bar making a fool of himself again. But that was not any of Jason's business. He didn't get paid enough to protect the man's reputation. And even if he did, it would be a losing battle.

Briefly, Jason considered going back to visit his mother in crime alley. But he thought better of that idea. He'd already sent her all the money he'd made from this trip to pay the bills and sustain her drinking habit. Perhaps that was not the right thing to do, but it was the only thing to do. So he did it; and did it without regret or hesitation.

He took another drag from the cigarette and looked up into the star filled night sky of Gotham. Perhaps he could see Dick and Barbra while he was back. _No_, he told himself. _They'll never want to see you like this. They can't understand_. A pang hit him in the gut as he starred up at the stars. That had become their tradition over the years. The three of them would take sodas up to a fooftop and watch the stars. Too bad things like that could never last.

Now when he saw them, he felt judged. He felt like the outsider he was. They were older than he was; Dick by two years and Barbra by three. They both went to the same school. He dropped out. They were both well off, he was practically a street rat. They were both strong. He wasn't.

So moral of the story, he was not going to look for them while he was back in Gotham. No. It was out of the question. _How low have you fallen that you feel shame talking to a former assassin? Pretty pathetic you can't even go see your best friends, huh?_

Jason ignored his inner voice and lifted the cigarette to his lips again.

He paused. He felt a slight shift in the Force. There was something familiar in the signature. It was barely perceptible, like a shadow on a cloudy day, but light like a warm sunbeam. He sighed. Or maybe he would see his friend after all. He sensed Robin behind him though he couldn't even make out the faintest noise of the older boy's boots touching down.

"Hello, Rob," he said. He never turned.

A hand reached over his shoulder and plucked the cigarette from his fingers. "Aren't you a little young to be smoking?"

"Aren't you a little young to be an undead former assassin?" Jason shot back.

"Touché," said Robin lightly. And though he could never admit it, Jason had missed his friend's easy presence and bizarre sense of humor. "We missed you. You missed movie night last month. And the moth before that. And the one before that."

"I've been busy," said Jason. He could hear Robin exhale behind him. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

"Just, try to make the next one, yeah?"

Finally, Jason turned around and looked his friend in the face. Robin, well Dick, had gotten only a very little bit taller since they'd last seen each other. His hair was longer though. Inky bangs spilled over his forehead, brushed haphazardly out of his golden eyes. The lower portion of his face was covered by the mask, but Jason could easily imagine his smile. His Robin uniform was getting tight on him again, and he had taken the sleeves off it altogether revealing thin but muscular biceps.

"You look ridiculous," said Jason, "you should sue your tailor."

Robin laughed. "I think the sleeveless thing works for me." He flexed his muscles like a mock body builder. "Barbra likes it."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Grose."

"So, how long are you home for this time?" asked Robin.

"Not sure," said Jason, "and don't worry, I'm not bringing a bunch of illegal guns into your city."

"That's good, cuz the last guys that did that just got blown up," said Robin lightly. Then his voice became serious, "you do know I can't keep covering for you and Cutzer with big B, right?"

"I don't need you to cover for me, Rob," said Jason, "I can handle this."

Robin looked at him with eyes that Jason had never learned to understand the meaning of. "Well, just remember you got friends, right?" he punched Jason lightly in the arm. "You're gonna need me on your side when Barb figures out you didn't drop by and say hello."

Jason winced. "I'll take some time off and say hi after the next shipment. I aint got that kinda time yet, but this next shipment of Yathmin could set my mum up for a few months extra."

"I'll hold you to it," said Robin. His amber eyes twinkled. "I've got a new training course outside the city we can run."

"Great," Jason rolled his eyes, "ya know, just cuz I can use the Force, doesn't mean I want to be a Jedi like you."

"Of course you do," laughed Robin.

Jason shoved his friend in the shoulder. "You think you know everything."

"I do know everything. It's part of my job description."

Jason couldn't remember the last time he had been easily able to talk to his friend. Even now, it felt like they were treading on eggshells, each unwilling to push the other too far. He had put their friendship in jeopardy, and it was only Dick's unwillingness to give up on it that had saved them thus far. At every turn of conversation, Jason feared a lecture—one that never came—and at every parting he feared it would be the last.

Yet for all the changes Jason saw, Dick Grayson had always remained essentially the same; he was the best person Jason could ever hope to know. And while it was a sort of comfort, it also pissed him off.

So, while he was pissed off, he decided to say the only thing that came to mind. "By the way, you owe me a cigarette."

But Robin ignored him and said nothing. His eyes had narrowed in on something in the distance and his form had gone still and taught. Experience told Jason that his friend was ready to jump into action at the slightest provocation.

"What?" he demanded.

"Modified GX-800 Probe Droid. It's just…sitting there," said Robin.

"And that's significant because…?" Jason demanded. He followed Robin's eyes up between two distant exhaust pipes emanating from the lower garage roof. Thick smoke curled around the droid, almost obscuring it. In fact, Jason wouldn't have been able to spot it at all without being directed. Still, that didn't make the droid a threat.

"Because it should be shooting at us," Robin continued. "That's a bounty hunter's probe. It's not spying on us. I spotted it too easily. And it's not shooting, so what does it want?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Now you're psychoanalyzing droids. Seriously bro, va-ca-tion."

Now it was Robin's turn to role his eyes. "I'm not paranoid."

"Of course not," said Jason patronizingly patting his friend on the back. "Oh, look it's coming over here. Ya can make friends."

"You're hilarious," Robin deadpanned. Jason only shrugged.

The prob droid sped across the distance to meet them and was presently hovering in front of their faces. Nothing more than a sleek black orb floating on tiny repulsor-lift engines, the thing looked deceptively harmless. But Jason knew better. GX 800 probe droids had weapons out the wazoo. And modified droids usually had even more weapons.

"Well don't just stand there Rob, say something," Jason prompted.

Robin looked stony. "Hello Deathstroke," he said at last.

Jason almost choked on air. If Robin hadn't taken his cigarette, he probably would have swallowed it. "What?" he practically screamed.

The droid's casing slid back to reveal a hollo-projector with a message from its owner. "Very good, Robin," said the unmistakable voice of Slade Wilson, the man who had haunted his dreams for the last five years.

"What do you want?" Jason spat.

"To trade a favor," answered Slade, "and I'd like you to leave. I'm only interested in Robin."

"Not gonna happen Death-turd," said Jason.

Even over the droid's choppy transmitter, Slade sounded irritated. "Robin, kindly remove this whelp from our conversation before Jee-Ex does. I don't want to waste good ammunition."

"The _Whelp_ stays," said Robin folding his arms over his chest.

"That's right…wait, did you just call me a _whelp_?"

"I'm about to call you much worse if you don't shut up," said Robin.

"Rude!" cried Jason indignantly. _Seriously, the nerve_.

Bur Robin ignored him. "What do you want, Slade?" he repeated.

"I propose we swap favors. I need your help on a little endeavor of mine, and in return, I think I may be able to help you. You cannot have forgotten your escape from Darth Vader and the Emperor; I helped you then because I always play the long game. And now I have come to make good on my investment."

"Thanks' for the assist," said Robin, "but I don't owe you anything. Have a nice day."

"Foolish boy," said Slade, "that's not the favor I was proposing we trade."

"Then what?" snapped Robin.

"Your friend here, it would seem, has gotten himself into a bit of trouble I'm afraid."

"Don't you ever threaten my friends again," Robin thundered.

Jason was reminded of his friend's seemingly limitless powers, and shivered. Robin had only grown stronger in the years since he'd lost control at Wayne Enterprises tower, and the first time had been scary enough. Robin had almost taken down the entire building with nothing but his will and the Force. No sane person would ever push for a repeat.

"Better listen to him, Death-turd," said Jason, "I don't want to be finding pieces of you all over Gotham for the next five years."

"Jason, seriously, not helpful," said Robin.

"Have you ever heard of Thayserax?" asked Deathstroke.

Jason shivered again. This time for another reason entirely. He remembered watching the holo-net news coverage of the desolation of the planet Thayserax. An entire word's population wiped out in a matter of weeks from an ancient plague thought to have been eradicated millennia ago before the days of the Old Republic. Billions of beings had died in agony without a cure or even a way to ease their passing. The planet was now a graveyard and yet not a sole dared to go and bury the dead.

"What of it?" Robin demanded darkly.

"Well, unless I've missed my guess, your friend Jason and his Captain have brought to Gotham the same plague that wiped out the people of Thayserax last month. An extinct disease, to be sure, one we should hardly be concerned about today. But then again, it wasn't a myth that killed those people, so perhaps we should take it seriously."

"What makes you think the plague is here?" said Robin. His expression remained unchanged and unreadable.

"According to my research, Captain Cutzer obtained his cargo of Yathmin spices from a certain Hutt crime lord named Zorthon. The same Hutt that supplied the spice smugglers that landed on Thayserax two days before the first outbreaks of the plague," said Deathsroke, "I payed Zorthon a visit before coming back to Gotham, and it turns out the Yathmin came from the third Sith planet of Zigoola; the last planet destroyed by the plague and the only one far enough outside the Republic's jurisdiction not to have been burned by the first Jedi Order. Do you follow, Robin?"

"I'm following," said Robin, "the bacteria that became the plague survived on Zigoola in hibernation until spicers working for the Hutt harvested contaminated Yathmin. Or so you claim."

"It is the truth." Deathstroke took off his helmet and faced the boys with his one stern eye. "I may be a bounty hunter and a man of my own law, but I have no desire to watch another planet die in agony. Robin, if you know your history, then you'll know it was a Sith Order that eradicated the plague. The Knights of the Onyx Dawn found a cure and saved the Galaxy. They brought their secrets to the planet Exegal to die with them during the great purge of the Sith. I believe the cure the order found is still on Exegal and you and I can use it to save Gotham."

"And what do you want?" Jason demanded, "you wanna hand my friend over to the Sith? No way pal!"

Slade looked unimpressed. "You don't have a choice. Either Robin comes with me on my little mission to Exegal, or the whole city dies."

"Why should I go with you?" Robin countered, "suppose I were to go to Exegal on my own?"

Slade looked smug. "Do you know how to get there? No. You need a wayfinder, one of only two ever made. Now, you can waste all your time scouring the galaxy for a wayfinder, or you can come with me."

"What's on Exagal for you?" said Robin suspiciously, "I'll answer that question after you've agreed to my deal. Meet me on the Jericho in orbit once you've made up your mind. Now tick-tock boy, the clock on Gotham has already started." With that, the hologram transceiver went dead and the probe droid flew out of sight.

"He's joking right?" said Jason once they were alone together again, "I mean, this is all just a plot to coerce you into going with him, isn't it."

Robin looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure, but my instincts are telling me Slade was telling the truth."

Jason felt as though a bucket of ice-water had just been dropped into his stomach. "What?"

"I can't be sure until I've run some tests on the spice you guys brought in and a blood sample from either you or Cutzer, but I'm not willing to gamble the lives of everyone in the city on a prayer."


	3. Line Break: The Gotham High Titans

**The Emperor's Talon: Journey to Exegal **

**Chapter 3, Line Break: the Gotham High Titans**

"Computer, how much longer till I get results on that blood sample?" Bruce demanded.

"Please wait sir, your results are being processed," said the feminine electronic voice.

"Well process faster."

"Please wait sir, your results are being processed."

"Not good enough. We've potentially got a city full of people about to be infected with an ancient plague." Well according to Dick. _But people can be wrong_.

The computer did not sympathize. "Please wait sir…" Bruce smashed the mute button with a heavy fist. He dropped his body forcibly back into the chair where he had been hunched over the bat-computer for the last several hours.

He dragged a tired hand down his face as he continued to stare bleary-eyed at the screen in front of him. He glared at the loading bar as if by staring at it he could make the computer decode the DNA sequence any faster. Unfortunately, the computer was immune to his infamous death-glare. Dick had—as he had with almost everything—added the "bat" prefix, and lovingly referred to this intimidating expression as the "bat-glare". Nobody, not even the computer, took him seriously anymore. _I could really use a cup of coffee_.

As if he had been summoned by magic, Alfred stepped out of the turbo-lift at the back of the batcave with a mug of hot coffee in hand. He walked over to the computer terminal and set the mug on the desk within easy reach. Bruce gave the man a grateful smile and mouthed a quick "thank you" before reaching for his mug of sanity.

"Still at it I see, sir," said Alfred stepping back to get a good look at the screen.

Bruce grunted. "Yes. I've isolated an unknown bacterium in the blood sample, but I haven't been able decode its genetic signature and get a positive ID yet. As far as we know, it's just some new pathogen."

Alfred made a humming noise. "I suppose the records on the original plague are hard to come by since it became extinct in the early days of the Old Republic. And since the Jedi temple was destroyed…"

"We've lost all the Jedi archives," Bruce finished, "which means," he turned around in his seat to glare over his shoulder at the vault at the back of the cave, "we may need to open those Sith holocrons if we don't get our answers."

Alfred, though he had obviously been thinking the same thing, looked decidedly disapproving. "Perhaps we should start with comparing the bacteria to the records taken from Thayserax. If they match, then we have our plague."

"But no cure," Bruce reminded him. _Oh Dick, what have you gotten into this time?_

Part of him—the purely human part—wished he could have remained in blissful ignorance; wished someone else would deal with this so that he could just go back to punching clowns and catching penguins. The other part of him was already prepared for the worst and calculating a best course of action. Every time his life found some sort of rhythm, just when he built a new family, the universe came along ruined it. If Dick was correct and these spice smugglers had brought an ancient plague to Avoline, his city, his people, his family, were all about to die gruesome deaths.

_But I won't let that happen. _

When Dick came back at the crack of dawn that morning, hiding his panicked heartbeat in the Force, Bruce had felt an uncomfortable bubble rise in his throat. When the boy's smile quivered slightly at the corners, his heart had hit the floor. Because Dick Grayson never worried. He never trembled. His smile was always so easy; no matter the pain or exhaustion, he kept a brave face. When the boy placed a little vile of blood in the palm of his hand and told him about the potential return of an ancient plague that could wipe out entire planets in a matter of months, his blood ran cold. When Dick put on his old Talon face—a mask of coldness and disassociation—as he talked about Jason, he'd felt sick.

Bruce had promised then to look into it immediately. He'd called off work with some lame excuse he concocted on the spot and headed down to the lab. He'd sent Dick to school, despite the boy's protests, and insisted that they couldn't panic about what hadn't been proven. _But I'm panicking anyways. Dick, please stop finding trouble around every corner. I can't keep up with it._

"Are you alright, Master Bruce?" asked Alfred.

"Yeah." He laughed then; a sound edged with bitterness. "You know, most people worry about their teenage boys bringing home girls and their shenanigans in in the bedroom, while I get to worry about Dick bringing home bombs, bio-weapons, and ancient diseases."

"It's only Thursday, Master Bruce," said Alfred dryly, "things are bound to pick up."

Bruce snorted. "I hope not. By the Force, I hope not."

* * *

**Gotham High, Gotham City Avoline:**

Dick Grayson looked down at his wrist chronometer; 15:00 standard hours. There was only an hour and a half left of the school day. He just had to make it through crashball practice and then he could go home and see what Bruce had found out_. If I hadn't been grounded last night, he probably would have let me stay home and help. But no. Bruce is being petty. Even the end of Gotham doesn't warrant a day off. This is so…ugh…frustrating!_ _What if Jason is already sick? I can't be wasting time at school. _

He thought about skipping practice. The fate of Gotham city was certainly more important than the game on Friday. Besides, if Slade was telling the truth, the city would be under martial law and quarantine within the week. The game would almost certainly be canceled anyways.

Dick looked around the locker room at his team_. Keep it together Grayson. They don't need to worry yet, you idiot. We don't know for sure. Deathstroke could be lying._ And that was an entirely valid point; Deathstroke was a mercenary. He was not to be trusted. _Just stick it out; 90 more minutes and then you can go home, _he told himself_. How would it look for the team captain to bail before the first game of the season?_

"Dude, quit daydreaming already. Coach is expecting us on the field in 5." Wally West, the Gotham High Titan's front-runner, jolted him out of his distracted thoughts with a slap on the back. The redheaded boy stepped over the corrugated metal bench and took a seat next to Dick. He bent forward, opened his locker, and after a few minutes of rummaging pulled out a faded purple Titan's jersey.

Wally gave the shirt a quick sniff. "Oh god, I've got to wash this."

Dick made a face. "You've been saying that for a week and a half now. Literally."

"Well excuse me, but not all of us have an amazing butler," Wally retorted, "besides, it's not _that_ bad. It's just _kinda_ bad. Here, smell it." He shoved the balled-up shirt in Dick's face.

"Wall! What the heck man? That's disgusting," said Dick sliding quickly down the bench a few feet.

"Come on, Princess, it's just a little sweat," said Wally closing the distance between them again. His lips quirked up at the edges in a mischievous smile.

Dick batted him away. "And this is just my fist. Seriously man, wash that thing."

Wally just laughed. He pulled the jersey over his head and let out a deep breath. "Ahh, smells like man."

"What smells like man?" asked Victor Stone coming to stand behind them. He was the biggest guy on their team with large dark eyes and even bigger muscles. An accident in the closing years of the Clone Wars had left him with extensive injuries—to which his prosthetic arm and leg attested—but that never seemed to stop him from doing what he wanted. Center defense on the varsity team for three years, Victor was an inspiration.

Wally turned his head to look over his shoulder at his hulking teammate behind him and grinned. "Our fearless leader wants me to wash my shirt."

"Maybe you should. Wouldn't want to assault the princess's nose, now would you?" asked Victor.

"What?" cried Wally indignantly, "I don't smell that bad."

"I'm sure you don't. But just to be on the safe side, Dick, can he borrow your lavender deodorant?"

"Oh haha, very funny," said Dick as he kicked his locker shut and tightened the waistband on his shorts, "give that shirt a good sniff. Go on, I dare you."

Two expressions passed over Victor's face: one genuine consideration and the other absolute horror. Dick and Wally burst into a fit of laugher.

"Put five bucks in it, dude," said Wally, "Vic'll do anything for a fiver." They kept laughing.

"Laugh it up, buttercup," said Victor folding his arms over his chest, "I'm gonna whoop your skinny ass in vaults today."

"Kinky," said Wally waggling his eyebrows as Vic rolled his eyes tiredly.

"I'd say get a room, but I think we'd better get going before Coach Lance whoops all of our butts," said Dick.

"Even better!" said Wally enthusiastically as he followed Dick through to the field.

"Keep dreaming, Stringbean," said Vic, "Dinah Lance has standards. I hear she only dates _men_."

"Burn!" said Dick twisting around to grin wickedly at his friend. Wally just shoved him forward by the shoulder as they walked toward center field where the rest of the team had gathered.

And as it turned out, practice was just what Dick needed to clear his head. The field was green, the air was fresh, and Coach Lance had no mercy during warm-up and conditioning.

Crashball as a game was sufficiently difficult and probably the only sport that could have held Dick's attention for any long period of time. The game required strategy, speed, strength, agility, and basic acrobatics. Dick had everything. After playing for one year, he made the varsity team. After another, he was promoted to team captain. Now in his last year of high school, he and the guys had been hoping to kick off their season with a smashing win. And they could do it. They had a great team. They were a quirky little family of best friends and Dick—for the first time since his parents died—truly felt like he belonged somewhere.

The Gotham High Titan's crashball team had one captain, Dick: and one frontrunner, Wally. Then there were the chargers, Roy Harper, Hank Hall, and Connor Kent. Those three used to fight like cats and dogs until their squabbling lost the team a championship match against H.I.V.E. and Dick gave them a rather memorable lecture on teamwork. After that, they became drinking buddies over-night. As long as they all make it to practice in one piece, Dick pretends he doesn't notice. Kaldur'ahm and Victor Stone played defense. And Garth Ericson, Ezra Bridger, and Laga'an were the gorillas. Then there were the rookies that played sub, Garfield Logan, Tim Drake, and Jaime Reays. The older boys liked to rib them, but they're part of the team all the same. Altogether there were thirteen of them. Thirteen idiots egging each other on, as Barbra would say. But Dick wouldn't trade these idiots for the world.

_Ok, maybe staying for practice was a good idea. _

"On your left," shouted Wally sprinting past Dick on the outside as they ran warm-up laps around the field.

"Run faster Wally, Vic's right behind you," Dick retorted, "he's still looking for that ass whooping he promised you."

Wally scoffed. "He is not," he declared confidently slowing to a jog.

"On your left," announced Vic, now right beside Wally's ear.

Surprised out of his wits, the red head suddenly bolted forward. Dick almost had to come to a complete stop as the laughter bubbled up inside him. "Never let it be said Wally West isn't the fastest guy in school," he choked out.

"Hilarious," Wally deadpanned.

"What's hilarious?" asked Garfield finally catching up with them. He stared up at Dick with confused green eyes.

"The extra pushups if you don't get your heads on straight," coach Lance answered from the sidelines. Her features always looked sharper when her blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. To say she looked unimpressed was an understatement.

"Tell you later," Dick promised, "right now, run."

After they were sufficiently exhausted from warm-up, Coach Lance had them running maneuvers. Dick's playbook was a complicated mess of odd strategies that usually worked beautifully but certainly required practice and absolute familiarity. Well, provided he didn't throw it all out the window and improvise. He tended to do that. A lot. The rookies were in for a treat in the event they got sent into the field.

"Alright team, head over to the left field outer rim for line vaulting," ordered Coach Lance.

"Prepare to get your ass whooped," Vic whispered to Wally as the team started walking down the field toward the outer rim.

"Dude, don't say it like that," said Wally, "you gave me the shivers."

"Keep it in your pants guys," said Roy walking past without turning his head.

Wally gasped dramatically. "Excuse you, Roy! But there is not enough room in my pants for…"

He was cut off by Kaldur'ahm who clamped a hand over his mouth. "Not in front of virgin ears."

"That's right," said Roy, "don't spoil my innocence."

Dick snorted.

"I was talking about Garfield and Tim," Kaldur clarified.

"Well that's a lost cause," snorted Hank.

"We're standing right here," Garfeild pointed out, "literally, right here."

"Don't worry my children, mother will protect you," said Dick.

Kaldur let out a bark of laughter. "So, you admit it; you're our mom."

"Actually, I was talking about you," said Dick, "who else brings extra water bottles and Advil to games?"

"That's right," Vic agreed, "and who else is going to tell us to go to bed at a decent hour?"

"Or not to take fake IDs to the bar?" Roy added.

"And do our laundry?" said Wally.

"Well someone has to be the adult on this team," Kaldur defended himself with a shrug. The guy never took the bait. Kaldur'ahm was pointless to provoke. It never worked.

The team took up their positions lined up in front of the left field outer rim. Dick took point, flanked by Roy and Wally. Connor stood just behind them casually tossing the crashball between his hands. The others fanned out to create two lines, one in front of the other.

The center field was level turf divided by a white line. On either end of the field was a double set of hard foam blocks—ranging in height from 3 feet to 6 feet—that served as defensible barriers ten odd yards before the goalposts. The foam walls, for lack of a better term, had four gaps each that players could run between. The first wall was called the outer rim, the second wall was the inner rim, and the last ten yards before the goal posts was called the court. The final piece of the game was the crashball itself; elliptical in shape—not unlike a large rugby ball—the crashball was designed to be thrown over long distances.

In a game, each team would line up on the about five meters from the outer rim before their respective courts. Before the first round of each time-mark, the ball would be placed in the center of the court. The teams' frontrunner would sprint for the ball and try to pass it to the team. The objective of the game was to get the crashball through the other team's goal posts. One could either throw it between the posts, or one could raid the opponent's court and carry the ball over the threshold to earn a touchdown. While the defensemen stay back to protect the court, the chargers try to score points or wrestle the ball from the other team. To make things even more complicated, teams could score additional points by snatching flags tied to the opposition's goal posts. While the main action stayed with the chargers, the gorillas would attempt to infiltrate the court and snatch flags.

In practice, line vaulting was simply sprinting down centerfield towards the opposite court and getting over the outer and inner rim walls. This is where the acrobatics came in. This is where Dick Grayson shone brighter than any other athlete in the Gotham district.

When Coach Lance shouted "go," the boys ran. Wally surged ahead. He got to the wall first, turned around, crouched, laced his fingers together and waited. In a second, Dick had his foot in the hold and let Wally propel him up and over the six-foot block section of the outer rim wall. He spun his body in a lateral twist and landed in a crouch.

Roy was the next to reach the wall. Without even turning around, he reached up and caught the crashball Connor threw from the other end of the field. Meanwhile, the rest of the team was slipping into the court to position themselves for an assist. Roy waited until Dick had positioned himself atop the center block of the inner rim wall before tossing the ball.

It went high. Too high. But that didn't matter. Dick leaped into a high summersault and kicked the ball between the goalposts midair. He landed lightly in the court.

"Good work team," said Coach Lance walking over, "again."

* * *

**The Giggling Squid Tavern, Crime Alley, Gotham:**

"Bar tender! Bar tender!" Captain Lando Cutzer banged his empty glass on the dark wooden bar.

The bartender, a green skinned Nautalin with bulbus black eyes, blinked owlishly in the dim yellow light of the bar. "I told you, sir, go home. You've been here since 24:00 last night." The aquatic alien finished cleaning the dirty glass in his hand and set it on the crooked shelf behind him.

Lando stood unsteadily and leaned over the bar. "Now see here, mister, I'm not…"

The captain's train of thought—fragile as it was—was derailed by the tavern's front door creaking open. Blueish-gray daylight spilled in for a brief moment and filled the musty old bar with a little clean air. Lando squinted into the doorway at a short silhouette with wild hair.

"What are ya doin'n here kid? Thought you was gonna spend some time with yer mum," said Lando. He shoved his empty glass at the bartender and turned his full attention towards the boy sliding into the seat beside him.

"I stayed the night on the _Outlaw_," said Jason Todd looking resolutely at the amateurish painting of a pink squid behind the bar.

_I'm too hungover to translate Jason-speak right now, _Lando thought. He scratched his stubbly chin of silver hair. "You know, ya can't be in a tavern, Jason. Yer gonna get us both in trouble."

There was silence for a couple minutes; only the steady snoring of the beselisk slumped over a table in one corner and the bartender's clanking glasses made any sound at all. Lando picked at the wrist of his grimy blue flight-suit as he waited for a response of some kind_. Seriously, I'm too hung over to babysit. _

"We need to talk," said Jason, finally looking at him full in the face.

_Well that sounds ominous_. "Look, kid, we're not leaving on another operation for a bit now. Why don't ya go see yer mum, yeah? She must be worried sick."

"She's better off without me for now. We should head back to the ship."

"What fer?" Lando rubbed his temples with one hand. "Kid, I'm too hung over for this to be makin' any kind a sense. Why don't ya tell me what's this all about."

Jason looked askance at the bartender whose swift hands were making short work of the dishes. He lowered his voice. "It's about Zorthon the Hutt. Where did the Yathmine come from?"

* * *

**Gotham High, Gotham City Avoline:**

After a grueling crashball practice, the Titans burst through the locker room doors laughing, cheering, and screaming. Roy held the door open for Victor Stone who was struggling with Wally West slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The redheaded boy braced his hands against the big defenseman's back as he tried to look behind him into the locker room. The rest of the rowdy team spilled through the doors after them.

Wally continued screaming nonsensical threats at his team as Vic carried him over to the row of showers along the back wall of the locker room. Hank Hall threw back the curtain to the largest shower stall and flattened himself against the white and purple tiled wall. Seconds later, Vic deposited Wally on the shower floor and held him there.

"Let it rip, Hank, quick. He's really squirmy," shouted Vic.

"You'll all pay for this!" cried Wally as Hank turned the shower on, and cold water poured over his head. "I defy you all!"

Everyone laughed.

"If you won't do your laundry, we will," said Hank.

"Yeah, with me in it!" Wally shot back.

"Your death is upon you, stinker," said Roy brandishing a bar of soap.

"No!" Wally tried to make a break for it, but Vic and Hank kept him pinned under the shower. Roy kicked off his sneakers and jumped into what was quickly becoming a dogpile in the shower. He rubbed the bar of soap into the offending jersey. White lather spread across the shirt only to be washed away by the cold water.

Wally was sputtering and trying to push the bar of soap away. "Dick, get in here and control your team!" he shouted.

Dick, leaning against the wall by the sinks, gave his friend a mischievous smirk. He lazily crossed his arms over his chest and let himself slump back a bit more. "Oh no, I agree with the guys," he said.

"Traitor!" shouted Wally.

Dick just laughed. "I'll see ya all tomorrow," he said, kicking back from the wall.

"You're leaving?" asked Garfield standing tentatively aside and laughing at the antics of the older boys as they harassed his teammate, "you're going now?"

"Yeah, I've got…homework…to do," said Dick.

Wally poked his head between Hank and Roy's shoulders. "Is Barbra homework?" He winked.

Dick took the crashball from Tim standing beside him and threw it at his friend. "Get your head out of the gutter, Wall."

"I'd settle for getting it out of this shower," Wally retorted.

"Later guys," said Dick over his shoulder as he headed for his locker. The guys—too preoccupied with torturing Wally—didn't bother to say goodbye or even notice Dick quietly gathering his gear. The former Talon traded his crashball jersey for a faded gray tee and a Gotham High Titans letterman and slung his bag over his shoulder. _That was fun, but now I'm back on the clock. Bruce, I hope you've got good news on that bloodwork_.

* * *

Author's Note: If you're like me and you're bored and stuck at home, I hope I can entertain you for an hour or so. Writing gives me something to do, so I hope I can spread the entertainment with you :) Ps. I have no idea where this story is going right now. I'm playing this disaster by ear.


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